


Too Long...

by MelpomeneTears



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-15
Updated: 2010-11-15
Packaged: 2017-10-13 05:25:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/133453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelpomeneTears/pseuds/MelpomeneTears
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Duncan had not died in Ostagar?  What would it be like to live during a Blight when you were experiencing The Calling.<br/>Inspired by the November What if contest of The Dragon Ages club on Deviant Art.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Too Long...

The veneer was cracking; the glossy sheen of respectability he had polished over years of practice would soon be gone. The anger and violence bubbled closer to the surface with every passing day. His emotions were a riot of extremes as he battled the Taint and tried to hold on. The Blight needed to be ended, then…then he could rest.

The Archdemon’s voice was ever present; calling him, singing to him of how beautiful surrender would be. He glanced across the fire and saw Sareyna leaning back against Alistair’s chest. Duncan could smell her like a bitch in heat. Alistair wasn’t much better; the smell of his desire was almost as thick as fog in the air. Duncan's desire no longer cared to differentiate between men and women. He stood and strode off quickly, nostrils flared and heart pounding.

Once he had left the clearing he shook his head trying to clear it. There were days now when he hated Alistair. He hated his youth and control, hated his beauty…that tanned skin that looked all the more breath taking with the white of his scars criss crossing it. It was a constant distraction, fraying the ends of his all too frail control.

He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth taking deliberate and slow breaths before walking in the direction of the river they had camped near. He knew what would come if he did not get himself back under control. After the towering, crashing waves of desire came the hurricane of anger and violence, and no one wanted that.

The last time it had come over him, he had broken a Templar’s jaw. It was the reason he had asked Sareyna to be their spokesperson, his ability to suffer fools was completely gone. The fact that she would be a good Commander was little comfort as he battled to be the Commander they all needed now.

********

Their bodies were naked and intertwined, Alistair looked peaceful but Sareyna’s face was twisted in horror. She had tried to stop him, to get away, but his life had depended on speed for so long, she couldn’t possibly hope to outmaneuver him.

Blood pooled between the two of them, still flowing sluggishly from their slit throats. He stepped backwards so it would not touch his boots. He admired their sleek beauty, feeling detached now that the violence had passed.

His hands started shaking as he felt a buzzing pressure in his head. He looked at the daggers in his hands. They dripped crimson blood at his feet, he watched fascinated as the droplets coalesced into a larger drop. He lifted one of the blades and ran his tongue along it…Alistair…even his blood tasted masculine.

He took a staggering step backwards as it suddenly blossomed in his mind what he had just done. He dropped his daggers and spit on the ground trying to get the taste out of his mouth. He dropped to his knees and a loud keening wail tore from his throat.

They were dead, naked and lying in a pool of blood and he had killed them. Betrayed them as the Archdemon had sung to him he would. The only Wardens in Ferelden besides him were dead, and by their own brother’s hands. He had killed his friend’s children; he had taken away their life as easily as he had saved them.

Another cry tore from his throat, he should go, leave before the other’s found him, found what he had done. He did not want to kill anyone else. He would flee and head to Orzammar, ask them to imprison him until the Archdemon was spotted. Yet, he couldn’t make himself leave. He crawled next to them and gathered them into his arms, his cries splitting the night air again.

********

“Duncan?”

He jerked reaching for his daggers only to find they were not there. He jumped to his feet, already swinging when he felt arms, like bands of steel, wrap around his ribs, pinning his arms to his sides. Duncan kicked and screamed, moving his arms what little bit he could, trying to leverage himself free.

“Let me go, I’ll kill you. I’ll slit your throat as easily as I did theirs.”

“Duncan, it’s Alistair…what are you talking about.”

Duncan stilled in Alistair’s arms. He looked down; there were no bodies at his feet. He saw the golden hair sprinkled lightly across Alistair’s forearms. Alistair released him and he spun to see his face, Duncan felt tears pricking his eyes and when he saw Sareyna standing behind him, concern on her face, he felt his chest contract painfully. He collapsed onto his knees.

Alistair knelt next to him. “Is everything alright? Were you dreaming?”

Duncan shook his head; he had no idea if he had been dreaming. It had felt so real, but they were both in front of him safe and sound. He felt the buzzing pressure in the back of his skull increase again, and he could swear he heard laughing.

He closed his eyes, realizing what had happened.  
.


End file.
